


Launch Yourself On Every Wave

by AnInconvenientRuth



Series: A Season for Everything [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Inexperienced Sherlock, M/M, OT3, Oral Sex, Rimming, Sexually Confident John, Sexually Confident Lestrade, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 15:29:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnInconvenientRuth/pseuds/AnInconvenientRuth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“You alright?” John asked, lips pressed to the back of Sherlock’s shoulder. “You’re very tense. Don’t disappear into that great brain of yours.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sherlock made a faint scoffing noise.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>John kissed his other shoulder. “See, this is the easy bit for me and Greg, the physical bit,” he said gently. “Like the brainwork bit is for you. Just, can you let us do this for you?”</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Launch Yourself On Every Wave

Greg found he was feeling surprisingly good. The latest case had wrapped up more easily than he'd been expecting and Sherlock hadn’t offended anyone too badly. It was all a bit unreal. Oh, and the new forensics assistant had definitely been flirting. Not that he was interested, bit off women altogether after the divorce. Still, nice to know someone found him attractive. 

They’d been fairly late finishing up, and John had bumped his shoulder into Greg’s and asked if he wanted to come back to Baker Street for a drink. It wasn't unprecedented, but Sherlock had added his invitation too and that _was_ a bit unusual. He’d agreed, of course, and the three of them had strolled back together, having a cheerfully random conversation, enjoying the easy company. Stepping into 221B was like entering a glowing, lamp-lit bubble. The sense of unreality intensified, or maybe it was the reverse – here was real, the world outside felt distant, irrelevant. Now, lounging against the kitchen countertop, long legs stretched out in front of him, Greg watched as John rummaged in a cupboard and emerged with a bottle of Talisker, which he waggled in Greg’s direction questioningly. Greg raised his eyebrows. “Not gonna turn that down,” he said.

“Christmas present from Mycroft,” John said.

Sherlock pulled a face at the mention of Mycroft but nodded acceptance of the whisky. He was still restless, prowling back and forth around the kitchen table, occasionally leaning against the countertop next to Greg, then wandering away to peer over John’s shoulder as he poured a healthy slug of the Talisker into each of three glasses.

“Cheers,” John said, handing the glasses round.

Greg tilted his glass towards the other two. “Cheers fellas.” The smoky burn of the scotch purred golden warmth along his limbs. “Blimey, this is really good stuff.”

Sherlock leant against the counter next to Greg again. He took a sip of his scotch, winced slightly. John glanced at him. “You ok? Is your lip bleeding again?” 

“I’m fine, John, don’t fuss.”

John glared at him. “Greg, is his lip bleeding again?”

Greg had a vague sense that this was one of those moments that could tip in two very different directions. The warm flow of the evening seemed to be sweeping him one way, and he let go and went with it. Reaching across, he drew his thumb over Sherlock’s lower lip, then brought his thumb back and sucked it dreamily. “Nah, don’t think so.” 

Sherlock stopped fidgeting, went very still, his gaze flicking between Greg’s eyes and his mouth. Greg looked over to where John was watching them, mouth serious but something dark and warm in his eyes.

Ah well, in for a penny and all that… Greg leaned in, and kissed Sherlock. He kept it soft and light, but when he drew back Sherlock was breathing fast. “You okay?” Greg asked.

Sherlock stared at him. “Why would you do that?” he asked. Greg was relieved to hear he didn’t sound upset, just a bit… bemused.

He shrugged. “Fancied it. Fancy you, the pair of you.” He grinned over at John as well. “No big, though.” John smiled back, scanned down his body with blatant appreciation, eyes lingering on his bared forearms where he’d rolled up his shirt sleeves and the hollow of his throat. 

Sherlock looked between the two of them. “You’re interested too?” he asked John. 

“Sure, could be fun,” John replied, easily.

Sherlock frowned, as though the ideas of ‘fun’ and ‘sex’ didn’t seem to fit together. “I’m not very good at this,” he said, finally.

“Can’t be the expert at everything,” Greg said mildly.

“I’m not a virgin, you know. But fellating someone for cocaine is a rather different… transaction… than what I think you’re suggesting.” He paused. “What are you suggesting?”

Greg thought about that for a minute. He really hadn’t had anything particular in mind, had followed the instinct of a moment, but he had thought about it, about _them_ , separately and together. The chemistry between the two of them was hypnotic, though he was pretty sure they weren’t actually shagging. But it had made him wonder, had opened up a whole guilty vista of surprisingly creative and varied fantasies... He shook his head, glanced at John again. “I wasn’t really suggesting anything specific. Nothing at all, if you don’t want to.”

John came over and hitched a hip onto the kitchen table next to them. “We could make you feel so good, between the two of us,” he murmured, and Greg saw a flare of heat in Sherlock’s eyes. He was still arguing though, bloody typical Sherlock. “Why? Why would you do that?”

John shrugged this time. “Everyone deserves to feel good sometimes.”

Sherlock twisted away from them both. “I need to think. I’m not… I’m not saying no. I just need to think,” and he strode away to his room. Greg decided in the circumstances he was allowed to stare at his bum as he walked away. He turned back to see John grinning. “It is a good arse,” John agreed.

Greg looked at John, still perched on the table looking relaxed. “I didn’t quite see it with you, to start with,” Greg said, conversationally. “Not that you’re not a good looking bloke, you are, but Sherlock saw something… more. Know Sherlock knows more than I do. If he thinks something’s worth looking at, I reckon it probably is worth looking at.”

John gave a wry half smile. “Not sure Sherlock even knows he’s looking, to be honest. Probably one of the things he’s gone off to think about.” He licked his lips briefly, and added, “Got to admit, it was kinda hot, that role reversal back there. Good to see you being sure of yourself, instead of him for a change.”

“Weeell, he might be the genius, but I reckon I’m probably better at sex.”

Now John grinned properly. “I think we’ve got some catching up to do,” he said, and pushed up off the table and stepped between Greg’s legs where he was still leaning on the counter. “You gonna kiss me like you kissed him?”

“Don’t think so. Reckon you can take a proper kiss,” and Greg settled his hands at John's waist and drew him in. Their mouths met, lips parted, soft, touch of tongue, oh, touch of _teeth_. Lush and heated, neither trying to take the lead, just moving together, the rhythm easy and confident. After a few moments, John drew back looking a bit dazed, and said, “Oh, you’re _good_ at that.”

Greg bit gently on John’s lower lip. “Can’t take all the credit, can I?”

John’s hands were restless on Greg’s biceps, “Did you have a plan, or anything?” he asked. “Just want to be sure I’m not going to get anything wrong.”

“God, no, really no plan. Just kind of went with the moment back there. Wasn't really expecting anything to come of it. Er, as it were.” They both smirked. “But this is a bit of a bonus. I reckon this could be pretty nice if it works out.”

“You have a lovely mouth,” John said seriously, and leant back in to kiss it again.

They both jumped a little when Sherlock spoke, right next to them. “I am surprised to find that it’s almost as arousing watching you two kiss each other as it was being kissed myself. Is that usual?”

“Can be, yeah,” Greg told him. “When the two blokes in question are as good looking as us. And when we both want to snog you breathless next.”

John huffed a laugh. “My turn, I think,” he said, and pushed a hand up into Sherlock’s thick hair and drew him down into a kiss. He wasn't as gentle with him as Greg had been, and Sherlock’s hands came up to cup his jaw as he responded willingly. John kept their posture open enough that Greg could see, and fuck, it really was hot watching the two of them, seeing their mouths soft and open against each other, flickers of tongue, and hearing the breathy sounds they were making.

“My room,” Sherlock said finally, and John started steering him backwards with a hand on his hip, then pulled away and leaned back to hook a finger in Greg’s belt loop to bring him along too. The three of them stumbled down the little hallway, exchanging kisses as they went, and Greg couldn’t resist pinning John to the wall just outside Sherlock’s bedroom door for a proper deep and dirty kiss. John growled into it, and Greg rocked his hips forward, feeling the hot pressure of John’s erection against his own. Finally John bucked up hard, pushing them away from the wall and through the doorway. 

Sherlock was standing in the middle of the room, looking uncharacteristically uncertain, fiddling with his shirt cuff buttons, and Greg and John exchanged a quick glance. Then Greg said to Sherlock, “You first, yeah? Let us take care of you.” He stepped up and carefully unbuttoned Sherlock’s cuffs, then untucked his shirt and worked down the front buttons. “Gorgeous,” he said, as he slid the shirt off his shoulders, and pressed kisses to each collarbone. John came up behind Sherlock and pulled the shirt right off, and scattered a series of tiny kisses and nips and licks over Sherlock’s shoulder blades and into the dip of his spine, but Greg could see his movements slowing, then John stopped and slid his arms around Sherlock’s waist.

“You alright?” John asked, lips pressed to the back of Sherlock’s shoulder. “You’re very tense. Don’t disappear into that great brain of yours.”

Sherlock made a faint scoffing noise.

John kissed his other shoulder. “See, this is the easy bit for me and Greg, the physical bit,” he said gently. “Like the brainwork bit is for you. Just, can you let us do this for you?”

“Using my brain is what I _do_. It’s hard to… to be in my body.” Sherlock sounded frustrated.

John said, unperturbed, “Can you switch to just observing? Not analysing, or deducing anything, just data gathering?”

There was a pause while Sherlock thought about that. “Yes, I can try,” he agreed eventually.

“Okay,” John said. “Right, don’t want to make any assumptions but should I pop up to my room and grab some lube? What about condoms? Although, um, I’m clean…” he added diffidently.

“Me too,” Greg said, and Sherlock nodded. 

“Right, just lube. Back in a mo.”

Greg rested his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders. “You can change your mind any time, you know. Just stay honest with us, yeah?”

“Have you ever known me not be honest about not liking something?” Sherlock said, as he carefully unbuttoned Greg's shirt.

“Hah, well, there is that,” Greg agreed. Sherlock’s fingers were tracing over his chest and abdomen and heat was seeping through his veins. “Can I kiss you properly now?” he asked.

Sherlock said, “Please,” and Greg wanted to taste that word in Sherlock’s mouth. This time he didn’t hold back, parted Sherlock’s lips confidently with his own, and slid his tongue into Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock made a faint noise, surprise and arousal, then wound his arms around Greg’s shoulders, in a delicious slide of bare skin on skin. 

John came back into the room, and tossed the lube onto the bed. “Fuck, you two are _gorgeous_ ,” he said.

Greg grinned at him over Sherlock’s shoulder. “Come on, get your kit off.”

John laughed and unbuttoned his shirt, then paused. “Um. You know I was shot?”

“Yeah? Oh. Scar?”

“Just a bit, yeah.” John pulled the shirt off. “I’m used to it, but people can be a bit funny about it when they first see it.”

Greg whistled faintly through his teeth. “Ouch. Makes my stab wound scar look like a paper cut.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Are we going to do the whole comparing scars thing _right now_? Or can we get on with the sex?”

Greg laughed. “Ah, getting into it now, are you? Anything in mind particularly?”

Sherlock looked thoughtful. “Fellatio does seem to be very popular. I would quite like to see what the fuss is about…”

John stared at him. “You’ve never been on the receiving end? Yeah, we need to fix that.” He helped Sherlock take off the rest of his clothes, and pushed him back to lie on the bed. Greg was transfixed by the miles of creamy skin sprawled across the dark sheets. “Oh, lovely,” he said. John was staring too, in frank admiration. Then John stripped off too, and he was lovely in a different way, nicely put together, compact and muscled.

John dropped down by Sherlock’s hip and leant in to nuzzle at his groin. Sherlock was only half-hard, but as John gently mouthed over his cock, Greg could see it swell and thicken. Greg grabbed the pillows and shoved them in behind Sherlock. “You’re going to want to watch this,” he told him. Greg had really been intending to watch as well, but the soft wet movements of John's mouth over the plump head of Sherlock’s cock made his own mouth water. He crawled down to join John, rolling the flat of his tongue around Sherlock's glans as John gently sucked on one of his balls. Sherlock was breathing raggedly now, his head shifting restlessly on the pillow. John lifted his head, swirling his tongue up Sherlock’s shaft, and Greg mirrored him on the other side, the tips of their tongues meeting and parting, until they reached the tip and John darted his tongue into Greg’s mouth. Greg got distracted for a moment, as their tongues flicked at each other, but then Sherlock groaned and he pulled away and stretched out along Sherlock’s side. 

John looked up at them both through his lashes, then dipped back down and took Sherlock’s cock fully in his mouth, his eyes sliding shut. The look of pleasure on his face was gloriously erotic; Sherlock gasped and Greg’s cock throbbed in sympathy. Greg wriggled out of his trousers and underwear, then reached down and pulled one of Sherlock’s long legs up and out over his own. Without breaking his rhythm on Sherlock’s cock, John reached out and worked his hand into the tangle of limbs until he could palm over Greg’s cock. Greg rocked up into the pressure a few times, then eased away. John’s eye’s fluttered open and he looked up questioningly. 

Greg shook his head. “Too much,” he panted. “I just… god, can I… I really want to come inside you. Would that be… would that be okay?” John moaned around Sherlock's cock, nodded blurrily. He started working Sherlock in earnest, bringing one hand up to stroke the lower half of his shaft as his mouth worked at the top, allowing saliva to run down to his hand, keeping everything slick. Greg was amazed that Sherlock had lasted as long as he had, it looked like a pretty devastating blow job, but even as he was thinking it, Sherlock stammered out something incoherent and came, John's throat working as he swallowed and swallowed.

Sherlock slumped back against the pillows. “Oh my god,” he said hoarsely. “Yes. I see.” John laughed quietly. He slid up Sherlock’s body and kissed him gently, then leant over and kissed Greg as well. Greg hummed with pleasure, rolled his head toward Sherlock and told him, “Oh, he tastes of you,” and leaned in to pass the taste back to Sherlock in a deep kiss. Then he swung up onto his knees and moved behind John, lifting John’s legs to splay them over Sherlock’s thighs and slotting himself between Sherlock’s calves. He drew Sherlock’s hands down and helped him to wrap long fingers around John’s thighs, holding him open. 

He looked down consideringly for a moment. It seemed like the kind of night where anything was worth trying. With the taste of Sherlock still in his mouth, he found he wanted to taste John too. He ducked his head and pressed a wet tongue to John’s perineum, and took a long slow lick all the way up to his tailbone. 

John muttered, “Jesus _fuck_ ,” and jolted under him but Sherlock held him steady. Greg settled down to alternate long wet licks with lapping all around John’s hole, feeling the muscle gradually soften under his tongue, while John writhed and gasped for breath into Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock craned to try to see what Greg was doing, and eventually settled for sliding a hand up and round John’s buttock to investigate with his fingers. Greg lifted away enough to let Sherlock stroke along the cleft of John’s arse, wet with Greg’s saliva. 

One fingertip circled against John's hole. “Can I?” Sherlock breathed. 

“ _God_. Yes,” John gasped out. Sherlock gently slid just the tip of his finger in, and that was breathtaking, watching John’s body opening for Sherlock. Greg dipped back down and licked around Sherlock’s finger, encouraging Sherlock to slide in deeper. “Another, he can take another,” he told Sherlock, and Sherlock eased a second finger in. He heard Sherlock murmur, “Oh, John, my fingers are _inside_ you, inside your body…” before John silenced him with a kiss, and said desperately, “You have to stop talking. God, your _voice_ …”

Greg scrabbled for the lube, coated his fingers and smeared the stuff around where Sherlock’s fingers were just barely moving, then slid in one of his own fingers as well. 

John’s hips bucked. “Christ, Greg, are you going to fuck me or not?”

Greg chuckled, eased his finger out and slicked himself up. “Come on Sherlock, you can go back in there later,” he said, and as soon as Sherlock had drawn his fingers out, Greg slipped the tip of his cock back and forth across John’s entrance, then pushed until just the tip popped into the tight ring of muscle. They both groaned. Then Sherlock’s fingers were back, exploring where they were joined. He ran the pads of his fingers up the length of Greg's cock, teased around his balls, and took a couple of firm long strokes along his shaft. Greg had to let his head drop back, away from the frankly incendiary sight of Sherlock’s beautiful hands wanking him into John’s arse. “Dear god, Sherlock, you’re going to kill me,” he said shakily. 

When Sherlock let him go, he took a deep breath and pushed steadily into the clinging velvet heat of John's body. Fully seated, he managed to lean forward long enough to kiss Sherlock over John's shoulder, messy and gasping. John twisted his head for an equally uncoordinated kiss.

“You alright?” Greg asked John breathlessly, and John nodded, eyes heavy lidded with pleasure. “Okay.” He started to thrust, gently. “Can you come like this?” 

John groaned. “Uh, not usually… Fuck, that’s good. Oh, that’s so good...” and he squirmed, his hips shifting restlessly. He rocked with Greg’s thrusts for a few moments. “Feels amazing. You go for it.”

“You sure? Okay,” Greg panted and he set up a relentless rhythm. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of you next.” Watching the muscles shifting in John's strong back, Greg knew he wasn't going to last long. When Sherlock looked up at him, eyes bright, mouth kiss-swollen, looking completely debauched, he lost it completely, the orgasm punching through him like a blow. He managed to twist sideways as he dropped and not land his full weight over the other two. When his brain came back online, he pulled at John until he rolled off Sherlock onto his back next to Greg. Sherlock was up straight away, pushing John's thighs apart and swallowing his cock down in one. John groaned and bucked up into his mouth. 

“Use your fingers as well,” Greg murmured and Sherlock slipped two fingers into John's arse, slick with Greg's come. John’s breath was sobbing out now and Greg licked around the shell of his ear, and whispered “Does that feel good? Him sucking you off, with your arse full of my come and his fingers?” and John’s whole body went taut, shoulders curling up off the bed as he climaxed wildly. 

“ _Jesus_ , Detective Inspector, you have a fucking _filthy_ mouth,” he spluttered when he could speak again. Greg kissed him, grinning. “Filthy gorgeous mouths, the pair of you,” John added, pulling Sherlock up to kiss him as well.

They slumped together for a while, hazy with endorphins. Sherlock recovered first, naturally. “I have questions,” he announced.

“Of course you do,” Greg agreed, and John snorted affectionately.

“You laugh a lot in bed, both of you.”

Greg wasn't quite sure what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't that. He had a sudden surge of wanting to fuck Sherlock until he forgot all the dickheads he’d been with previously, and tamped it down ruthlessly. He could imagine the disdain with which Sherlock would treat the idea of someone feeling compassion for him. He'd probably interpret it as pity, as if that wouldn’t be even crazier. “Yeah,” he said instead. “It’s fun. Well, can be.”

“Yeah,” John murmured in agreement. “Or it can be crazy, or angry, or tender. All sorts.”

Sherlock hummed thoughtfully. Then he said, “John, why do you enjoy being penetrated if it’s not enough to bring you to orgasm?”

“Bloody hell Sherlock. Um, it just feels good, okay? It’s not all about getting off. And it’s hot to know your partner is enjoying themselves, as well.”

“What about you, Greg? Do you not like to be penetrated?”

“Yeah, I like it alright sometimes. Some people really do, some people really don’t. It’s not the be all and end all.”

“I think I would like to try being penetrated next time.”

Greg and John both choked out startled laughs. “ _Next time_?” Greg said.

“Yes. We all enjoyed ourselves, didn’t we? I see no reason not to do this again some time.”

“Blimey. Talk about going from nought to sixty,” Greg muttered.

“It’s fascinating!” Sherlock said, waving an arm expansively. “So many combinations with three of us. I’m sure we can come up with scenarios for several more encounters.”

Greg’s mind supplied him with several of those scenarios, unbidden. He swallowed hard. “Okay. But starting with fucking you next time.”

Sherlock was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “What’s your refractory period like, Lestrade?”

Greg groaned. “Jesus man, I'm in my forties. No more tonight. Stop laughing, John.”


End file.
